from my unpublished second collection

Crow

Thief of the corn, patch of night against a perfect sky,

I see you there watching me with your strange eyes. What message do you bring me?

When the leaves fall you'll be all we have left.

Perched above the cemetery walk, you add your two cents’ worth

when he reads the part about the promised resurrection, neither curious nor afraid,

and in this you are nothing like us.

When that dog snatched the meat from your mouth after it asked you to sing,

you chased after it, you didn't sing anyway.

originally published in Ploughshares